


the thief and the heartbreaker/i try to be like grace kelly

by perennial



Category: To Catch a Thief
Genre: ALL I EVER WANTED, Alternate Ending, Canon Divergence, F/M, how it should have ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennial/pseuds/perennial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francie is the thief. Not Danielle. FRANCIE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the thief and the heartbreaker/i try to be like grace kelly

**Author's Note:**

> All lines in italics are taken directly from the film.

A man emerging from the sea and flinging himself onto the hot sand is an oddity, certainly, but no one else seems to pay any attention. She recovers from her surprise quickly; then—as though a light has been turned on—focuses on him with an intensity that cannot be credited to the manner of his arrival or his physical attractiveness. His back is to her, so he does not notice that she watches him expectantly, as though waiting for something to occur. All that happens, though, is a summons to the telephone. He walks away and she returns her attention to her oil and the sun.

*

_-Maybe Mr. Hughson doesn’t care for gambling._  
_-Everyone likes to gamble one way or another, even you._  
_-I have an intense dislike for it._  
_-Francie dear, when the stakes are right, you’ll gamble._

*

She sits stiffly beside him while her mother goes on about society and Oklahoma and bourbon. Mrs. Stevens makes no secret of her approval of the newcomer, though he has hardly looked at her daughter all evening.

When he bids goodnight to said daughter at the door to her suite, she knows his mind is on her mother: specifically, the diamonds decorating her mother’s neck. She steps forward and kisses him, all gold and rose and cornflower blue. Without a word she steps back and closes the door in his face.

In the morning $35,000 worth of gems have vanished.

*

 _-Mr. Hughson’s been telling us about a robbery last night, after we went to bed._  
_-Oh? Who?_  
_-Madame Leroux, wife of a high government official. Thirty-five thousand._  
_-Oh, too bad._ Her smile is pure sunshine. _You should find a more happy business._  
_-The famous jewel thief, the Cat’s loose again, they say._  
_-Well, Mother. You’re next!_

*

Without knowing quite how it happened, he finds she has taken command of his day: swimming first, then driving around the surrounding country, and now touring villas he’s told her he might rent, with expectation of a picnic lunch afterward. She knows how to get her way, and it has not even taken money to obtain it.

This is the thing about her that has stood out to him most—that despite her clothes and hair and car, she does not adorn herself with what is usually considered the highest symbol of affluence: jewelry. No clear, hard stones; not even costume or paste imitation.

_-I don’t like cold things touching my skin._  
_-Why don’t you invent some hot diamonds?_  
_-I’d rather spend my money on more tangible excitement._  
_-Tell me. What do you get a thrill out of the most?_  
_-I’m still looking for that one. …I thought we were going to look at the gardens._  
_-I was interested in the architecture._

His eyes are busy examining the roof, the gutters, the balconies, any possible entrance—or exit—to the villa, which is one of many estates he expects the copycat to pay a visit to sometime within the next few weeks. His eyes roam over the exterior, trying to memorize the most promising features. He does not pay attention to where her gaze lingers.

*

They pass the policemen at the base of the villa drive. Her hair and scarf fly in the wind as they race over the cliff roads. She is a vision of total composure. Light hands on the wheel and more than a hint of a smile on her face, she goes veering around obstacles and s-curves. From behind them comes the sound of glass and metal colliding with rock, and they don’t see the police car again.

_-Yes, police following you, John Robie, the Cat._

*

The entire Riviera is spread before them. She throws her arms out as though wanting to gather the bursting colors of the view into her embrace. _Think of all those roofs you could climb over._

Evidently she is more protective of her mother than she lets on. His name first came to her attention in a Paris column, where he was mentioned in connection with jewel theft. He thinks she sounds more pleased with herself than is called for, given the conditions. For one thing, he tells her, he is no such person.

_-You keep talking like that about me and I’ll wind up in a French jail for something I didn’t do._  
_-Are you going to rob Mother first or somebody else?_  
_-Under the circumstances, somebody else._  
_-That’s nice, Mother likes you. I think Lady Kenton should be our next job._  
_-Listen—_  
_-Isn’t she on your list? She ought to be! The Kenton jewels are famous. I know every inch of her villa._  
_-I can already hear your next line._  
_-The Cat has a new kitten. When do we start?_  
_-Don’t talk like that._  
_-You’re leaving fingerprints on my arm._  
_-I am not John Robie the Cat._  
_-Why are the police following you? Show me that real estate list. That villa we went to isn’t for rent and you know it. The Sanfords have owned it for years, and I’m going to a party there in a week._

The gala will be irresistible to someone like the Cat, she says. Her eyes sparkle. She knew the purpose for his visit: reconnaissance.

*

She moves like a dancer. At all times she is both fully aware of every part of her body and simultaneously unconscious of it—she has trained herself to move with lightness and agility, and as a result her muscles attend to their duty even when the brain is focused elsewhere.

 _-Doesn’t it make you nervous to be in the same room with thousands of dollars worth of diamonds, and unable to touch them?_  
_-No._  
She wears a dreamlike, pleased smile. _Like an alcoholic outside of a bar on election day._  
_-Wouldn’t know the feeling._

Her voice holds suppressed excitement, but there is a hint of mockery in her tone. _All right. You’ve studied the layout, drawn your plans… worked out your timetable, put on your dark clothes with your crepe-soled shoes—and your rope. Maybe your face blackened._ Her voice rises enthusiastically. _And you’re over the roofs in the darkness, down the side wall to the right apartment—and the window’s locked. **All** that elation turned into… frustration. What would you do?_  
_-I’d go home, get a good night’s sleep._  
_-Oh, what would you do, the thrill is right there in front of you but you can’t quite get it._ The cluster of diamonds around her neck shine brighter than the fireworks bursting over the Riviera outside. _The gems glistening on the other side of the window… and someone asleep, breathing heavily._  
_-I’d go home and get a good night’s sleep._  
_-Wouldn’t you use a glass cutter, a brick, your fist, **anything** to get what you wanted! Knowing it was just there waiting for you?_  
This launches their return to the briefly abandoned subject of the Sanford gala. She wants to pool resources. Valuable information will be his for the asking. They will knock over the gala together. There is laughter waiting at the corners of her mouth.

He tells her, _You know as well as I do, this necklace is imitation._

He leaves her asleep on the sofa. Settled into a comfortable chair by the window in his room, he watches both the fireworks and the hotel shadows.

*

The door to his suite is flung open to reveal the lines of her silhouette. _Give them back to me. Give them back to me! Mother’s jewels!—There’s only one place to look and that’s obviously here!_

 _She said she knew where my jewelry was_ , Mrs. Stevens tells him. She is as unruffled as her daughter is infuriated. _I’d be just as happy to not find anything._

 _You must sleep soundly_ , is his comment.

*

 _What’s bothering you is John Robie’s the first man who wouldn’t fall down and roll over for you_ , her mother informs her.

*

He hides for three days, fishing during the day and watching one of the homes on his list at night, the villa of a South American couple. Someone else watches with him; they are hardly anything but a faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze, an extra bit of black in the darkness.

*

THE CAT IS DEAD, shout the headlines. She reads them from outside the news stall and has to go back to get her own copy of the newspaper. When it is in her hands, undeniable in block print, she looks sightlessly through the market crowd.

Her mother tells her daughter to practice her apologies, and can’t help but feel pleased at the troubled frown that narrows those fine honey-brown brows.

*

The Cat is not dead, he tells her.

 _-Why bother?_  
_-It’s sort of a hobby of mine—the truth._  
_-I was wrong about you, I think,_ she tells him. _You might possibly be wrong about me._

He is willing to mend the fences she broke. And he wants to go to the gala. If there is a place for answers, they are waiting there. He knows it with every instinct that made him the best—that gave him success and notoriety—that saw him through the war. Can she get him an invitation? He says, _I thought you might like to see a real, live burglar in action._

She looks up at him with her big eyes. _Will it be dangerous?_ she asks.

*

Every woman at the gala is dripping with diamonds. The jewels are fastened around wrists and strung across gowns. They nestle against collarbones, white as stars against Riviera-browned skin.

 _Well, we’re in_ , he says.

The feather-topped manservant vanishes through the crowd on his contrived errand; she watches the police follow.

*

He pulls off her mask and her flaxen hair turns silver in the moonlight. He knows he shouldn't be surprised. It was glaringly obvious, after all; she practically dropped clues in his lap—but he is stunned despite himself. She laughs up at him, watching him mentally rework the puzzle. The bored little heiress, whose passion for life had found insufficient outlets and turned to recklessness, who drove too fast and traveled too much and flirted with men she oughtn't. She is quite a riddle and an even better actress.

“Don't you understand? It's the end of the line,” he tells her, but he can tell she does not actually believe that she is done for.

“You can’t do it all alone. Let’s finish this together,” she says.

“I'm going to save you from yourself,” he tells her, and plucks the bag from her hands. She snarls and claws at him for it—not because she cares about the riches, of course, but because each jewel is a trophy to her adventure, representing all the excitement she seeks like an alcoholic with renewed hope for what might wait at the bottom of an unopened bottle.

They chase each other across the roof tiles, dodging the spotlight in their own skewed ballet. And then the spotlight finds them and hangs on like a Riviera crab. The police shout at them in a rattle of French.

“Go.” He pushes her away, toward the back of the roof. “Little idiot, go!”

She obeys when he presses the bag back into her hand. She is halfway down her carefully chosen path across the tiles when she realizes she is alone and turns back to look for him. By the time she realizes what he plans to do, it is too late. Out of the darkness, he hears a horrified “ _No—_ ”

He steps forward, muscle memory at work again, and leaps into their clutches with all the grace of a lifelong trapeze artist.

*

He learns later that she wrangled Hughson into it with a promise to go straight. She asked the insurance agent to decide which was the greater risk: breaking Robie out of prison or leaving her loose to prey on his wealthy clientele; he chose the latter, his price her promise that Le Chat had spent its ninth life.

They watch the dawn crest over the Mediterranean horizon. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you,” he tells her.

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” she lies. She straightens her shoulders and attempts to bid him farewell.

He takes the hand she offers and pulls her into his arms. “Oh, no. If I have to spend the rest of my life running from the law for your crimes, you’re going to suffer with me. Besides, someone’s going to have to keep an eye on you.”

“There’s a boat leaving for Aruba in twenty minutes,” she says happily. “I’m an excellent travel companion.”

He leans in to kiss her.

She adds, “So is Mother.”


End file.
